


A Ghoul And His Dreams

by RedneckWerewolf



Series: Who is The Lamb and Who is The Knife [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, also hancock: SHIT FUCK SHE'S HOLDING MY HAND!!, hancock: plays himself off as a filthy boi, i didn't proofread or edit this, noncanon, technically she's the sole survivor but isn't but i still gotta write that noise, uhhhhhh here's some fluff with a tiny smidge of dirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedneckWerewolf/pseuds/RedneckWerewolf
Summary: Hancock has some dirty dreams about his friend and eventually winds up in her bed. There's no porn here just BURN VICTIM SHREK.





	A Ghoul And His Dreams

   Hancock had to finally admit to himself that he’d been dreaming about Lamb. She was the General of the Minutemen, a Knight with the Brotherhood, and he’d been having absolutely _filthy_ dreams about her. And now, her pet Paladin was starring right alongside her. Among other positions.

   It wasn’t like he tried to dream about her. It had only started after that first little flirt from her. He’d been pouring his heart out and she nearly stopped the damn thing.

   ‘ _Friends?’_ She’d said. ‘ _That’s what we are?’_

_‘Well, now that you mention it, I have been having slightly more impure thoughts than usual. Maybe we’ll get to, ah, act on those.’_

He’d immediately started internally berating himself and quickly said they should move on. And she smiled shyly at him, her face a bit red.

And her smile had followed him all the way into his dream that night. It had been shockingly innocent, compared to his past experiences, and especially compared to the dreams that followed.

   Hancock had kissed her, that first night, and woke with tingling lips and a racing heart.

   And this morning he’d awoken with his hand down his pants and the slow realization that he _definitely_ needed to do laundry.

   That last dream had Lamb down on all fours, with Danse kneeling close behind her, his large hands around her thin waist. Hancock still didn’t know if he wanted to watch or join them.

   He felt guilty for it. She didn’t deserve to have him thinking about her like that. She might be affectionate but he doubted she’d actually _want_ him. Hancock didn’t feel bad about Danse at all, though.

   The man still gave him the stink eye whenever Lamb wasn’t in sight. He hadn’t gone so far as to insult him verbally since they first met, but the ghoul could practically _feel_ the slander radiating off of him at times.

   Hancock thought he was _very_ good looking, big and muscular with thick, dark hair; but his wooden, Brotherhood-centric personality was a _major_ turn-off. He clearly needed to spend some quality time with the Paladin to see whatever Lamb saw in him.

_Speaking of…_

   Hancock heard movement from inside the house and shooed away the lingering filth from his thoughts. He’d been out in the recently walled-in car port, doing his laundry. The washer and dryer had been salvaged from the house by Sturges and Danse a few weeks prior. While the machines did their jobs almost as good as they had Pre-War, blood stains still needed special attention.

   He dropped his shirt into the soapy basin to soak a while longer and went in to help with breakfast. Or was it lunch already? It didn’t really matter, though, the pair inside would usually eat whatever was in reach rather than assign certain foods to certain times of day.

   Hancock saw Lamb first, standing in front of the closed fridge, chugging a can of cold water. Then he saw Danse limping over to the couch, holding a bag of potato chips in one hand as he handled a crutch with the other. He must’ve been in more pain than he let on, to have delved into the stash of chips bought from a western caravan.

   The ghoul plopped himself onto the overstuffed chair by the couch, kicking his feet up onto the faded ottoman. Danse lowered himself carefully onto the cushions, wincing slightly when his knee cracked. He and Lamb had been far too close to a car going off while taking on some Gunners.

   Danse had taken the brunt of it, since he was standing in front of Lamb providing cover, but he’d been in his power armor. She was wearing the cage armor she found in a dead raider’s shack.

   ‘ _Well, at least you were wearin’ a helmet,’_ Nick had said after they’d limped into Sanctuary. Nick helped Curie treat Lamb’s burns while Sturges and Preston splinted and wrapped Danse’s leg.

   Hancock had come back into town with a pack full of mirelurk eggs and saw Danse’s battered armor parked in the workshop across the street from the house they lived in. He was about to bolt into their house, panic setting in, since it was a very bad sign to see Danse’s armor in poor shape and him _not_ working on it, when Nick came up behind him. The detective had put his hand on the ghoul’s shoulder and began guiding him towards his home. _‘They’re fine, Hancock. Just a little banged up.’_

   Hancock stashed his haul in the fridge of the house with the workshop, which was where Nick, Curie, and Sturges lived. Nick caught him up on what happened, that they were both in need of rest, and that they were in their separate rooms. Lamb rarely slept on her own, choosing to cuddle whoever was traveling with her, and usually with Danse when he was around. But her burns required her to have breathing room.

   Later that night he quietly crept back into the house after having dinner with his friends across the street. He fell asleep worrying about Lamb (and maybe a little about Danse, too.) His dreams had started out normally enough; stressful, happy, weird and unclear. But then he dreamt about Lamb and Nick together, and woke up hard and unable to look the detective in the eye for the rest of the day.

…

   They were on day three of recovery, and Lamb’s burns were definitely going to scar down her arm and side. Danse was a little luckier. He was barely burned, although he received a fracture from the impact of the car’s door into his armored leg. But the paladin was also badly bruised from being knocked around _inside_ his armor.

   Hancock had a good laugh about that and Curie scolded him for it. He felt a little guilty for laughing the next morning when he opened Danse’s armor and saw that the interior frame had been partially torn loose from the force of the blast. He wondered how Danse had escaped broken ribs and internal bleeding.

   Lamb finally came over with another can of water and settled herself on the other half of the big red couch. Her burns still hurt too much for her to get entirely comfortable in any situation, but she refused to use enough med-x to ease the pain. She made a drawn-out noise of complaint until Danse held the open bag of chips to her. Hancock was surprised when, after Lamb had scooped out a handful, Danse aimed the bag at him in offering.

   “Thanks,” Hancock said, dipping his hand in. “What did you two want for breakfast?”

   “This is breakfast,” Lamb replied, her mouth full of chips.

   “No it’s not.”

   “You’re one to talk,” Danse said, and to Hancock it actually sounded like he was _teasing_.

   “You’re getting eggs and toast, and you’re gonna like it,” he replied, standing up. “And sausage if there’s any left.”

…

   Hancock kept himself busy through the day to keep his mind from wandering. He did, however, replay Danse’s near-friendly behavior at breakfast. Every time he did, he thought the same thing: _Great. I’m gonna dream about crew-cut again._

   He also avoided creating scenarios of rejection from Lamb. He didn’t think he could take that, especially if the paladin was around. Hancock instead spent all day doing chores around the settlement, following Preston around doggedly, well aware that the colonel had mostly figured out what was going on with him.

   That made Hancock a bit paranoid. He knew there was absolutely no way that Preston could know about his graphic dreams. And he knew that Preston wouldn’t judge him for being hung up on Lamb, because _he was too_.

   He and Preston started talking while working on a new dock on the river that ran around Sanctuary. Hancock both dreaded and looked forward to the direction their conversation went, but he was glad to say something to someone about the guilt that came with his feelings.  By the time they stopped for a break, the pair were both shirtless and glad to have some emotional weight off their shoulders. Although Hancock was now sure that Preston was going to be featured in his dreams soon.

   By the time Hancock returned home to make dinner, he’d managed to redress himself and mentally prepare a partial confession to Lamb. Alright, not even a partial confession. Maybe just a quick _I like your style_ before retreating to his room for the night.

   And he was going to try that.

   But his plan was foiled before he even had a chance to try and bail. Lamb was on the couch, minus her shirt, getting her burns looked at by Curie. Nick was sitting in the overstuffed chair, holding some of Curie’s supplies in readiness.

   “Did I miss all the fun?” Hancock asked, earning a _look_ from Nick.

   “Well, yeah. Curie gave Danse some horse tranquilizer and we had to carry him to bed,” Lamb replied. “He almost passed out in his soup.”

   “Got any left?”

   “Hmmmm, no. It takes a lot to take Danse down. And if there were any left I think Nick would slip it to me before you could get any.” Lamb was watching the detective expectantly, waiting for him to continue her bit.

   “Actually, that’s a good idea. You’d get some rest for once,” Nick said as Curie motioned for him to pass over a glass jar full of a grayish goop.

   “Monsieur Nick, we discussed this: no tranquilizing Mademoiselle Lamb!”  Curie exclaimed, but the smile she was trying to repress gave her away. Lamb held back her laughter so she wouldn’t disturb Curie’s work.

   Hancock remembered Curie doing exactly that after Lamb came home from a week-long disappearance with badly infected wounds. Whatever she’d been up to had ended in her fleeing from a group of ferals. His dreams that night had been far from his dreams about her now. When he’d finally flinched awake, he’d peeked in through the heavy curtain in her doorway to check on her, just in case.

   “I might recall you telling me that about Danse, but not her,” Nick replied, half-smiling at the pair before him. “Oh, Hancock, there’s leftovers on the stove. Danse was mickeyed before he could eat everything.”

   Hancock thanked him and proceeded to help himself to the still-steaming pot of soup on the stove and took a seat at the table. He snuck a quick hit of jet while he watched Nick carefully place Curie’s supplies on the coffee table, wink at Lamb as he got up, and head over to the table to join him.

   The detective settled into the chair at Hancock’s elbow and leaned forward to rest his folded arms on the table.

   “I need you to do us a favor, Hancock,” he said.

…

   Next thing Hancock knew, he was climbing up into Lamb’s platform bed in what was formerly the laundry room. She’d claimed the small room as her own, claiming all she needed was a bed and some storage. She built it out of scrap lumber and did a damn fine job, even finding stain and sealant from old hardware stores. The platform took up the whole room, with the ladder about a foot from the curtain. The bed sat up about four feet high, and took up eight of the nine foot length of the room, and all four feet of width. Lamb had made several large padded mats to line it instead of using a mattress. She said it was to make it easier to clean and maintain, but Hancock quickly figured out that the mats were just much more comfortable. The bed also had storage cubbies on one side and a shelf on the wall on the other side. He settled in what Lamb called her nest to wait for her to finish wrestling herself into her pajamas. He had a passing thought about what the previous inhabitant might think of her house now with all the modification they had made to it.

   There had been some trouble, before Hancock had ever met her and Danse, when the pair had first entered Sanctuary. Lamb had been deathly ill, bad conditions and exhaustion had caused her sharp decline overnight, and Danse carried her to the nearest settlement for help. Hancock didn’t have much information about _who_ the woman was that had stormed out after disowning her former home and friends, just that she’d apparently come out of the dead vault on the hill. Hancock only knew what Lamb knew, which wasn’t much, as she slept through the whole show. All she knew was that she and Danse had a house to live in, and now she and Danse and Hancock had a house to live in.

…

   His task for the night was to ‘keep an eye on her.’ Nick had refused to elaborate, and Curie was more concerned about keeping her properly hydrated. He figured it was because if Lamb was miserable she wouldn’t move, and if someone didn’t help her, she’d remain wherever she had laid herself to rest.

   Hancock had already gathered drinks and snacks and stashed them in the cubbies of her bed. All that was missing from this party was the booze and chems. But he’d hold off on that until later, if she’d ever let him.

   Lamb finally pulled the curtain aside and hauled herself up into her nest. She crawled to the left side of the bed and fell over to face Hancock. Her right side had been burned, which was good in a sense, since she slept on her left side. She flopped around a bit before she got comfortable enough to settle. Hancock slid down so he could lie on his side to face her.

   “How’re you feeling?”

   “Like Nick and Curie put tranquilizers in my dinner.”

   Hancock hummed in response. “That’s the fun part,” he said. Then, a little softer; “You need sleep anyways.”

   Lamb made a sound of protest but pulled the blanket over her head anyway. She carefully arranged her arm under the blanket, ending with it almost stuck under Hancock’s pillow. He listened to her breathing even out, and decided to take a risk. He gently placed his hand over hers. He was definitely out of his element when just touching someone’s hand caused his heart to stutter. His heart nearly stopped when Lamb started moving her hand. His chest began to tighten with disappointment before she closed her fingers around his hand. She’d just repositioned her hand to hold his back.

   Hancock’s dreams that night were soft and gauzy, and somewhere in the middle he woke up and kissed her hand, just to be sure she was still real.

**Author's Note:**

> \- uuhhhh hthis took me a literal week to write bc i've been trying to readjust my sleep schedule  
> \- if this seems really unstructured and half-assed, i know  
> \- hancock and danse r being decent to each other bc danse once watched lamb jump onto a deathclaw's back and shot it in the face and he knows she'll do the same to him if he misbehaves  
> \- nick and curie are here bc i love them  
> \- hancock, at some point: yeah i'm a sex beast  
> also hancock: ready to cry if his hand holding gets rejected  
> \- i wrote this exclusively while exhausted


End file.
